


The Anchor

by sancallisto



Category: Beauty and the Beast (2017), Beauty and the Beast - All Media Types
Genre: F/M, I want the fluff to eat your face off, Romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-04-01
Updated: 2017-09-13
Packaged: 2018-10-13 13:44:56
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 8
Words: 10,238
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10514937
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sancallisto/pseuds/sancallisto
Summary: "You're alive," she murmured softly, amazement smoothing the tone of her voice and filling the small void between them. Her eyes, brimming with unshed tears, locked on the loose waves of his shirt and the smooth planes of his chest."I’m…” he began, unsure of what to call himself. I’m me? I’m human? I’m…"You're alive," she repeated, her tone insistent but her hands hesitant as they moved from his thin waist along the loose linen to his chest. The fabric bunched as her fingers pressed lightly across his torso, searching. "You died," her voice cracked, her sorrow tangling desperately with her words, "but you're alive."A series of vignettes following Belle and Prince Adam based on the live-action Beauty and the Beast. No set number of chapters or timeline. Please enjoy:)





	1. Releasing the Anchor

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This small addition of dialogue would, in my mind, take place directly following the transformation kiss. Based on the live-action Beauty and the Beast, which is glorious and wonderful in every conceivable way. This thought stuck in my mind after seeing this movie, and it had to be said.

The kiss overwhelmed him from the very crown of his head through the center of his heart and the bottom of his stomach to the light soles of his feet. Her hands curled around the edges of his waist into his loose, white linen shirt as he caressed the delicate edges of her cheeks and jawline. She pulled him toward her with the fabric of his shirt, her thoughts moving at a desperate pace, before he ended the kiss with a shaky exhale and touched his forehead to hers. His hands smoothed the long, brown strands of hair along her temple and behind her ears.

 

With a quick inhale into his aching lungs, he found his breath. He was shocked by how much he needed to focus on breathing.

 

“Belle…” he whispered, holding her to him gently with his hand cupping the back of her head while his other hand smoothed down the soft sleeve of her dress before finding her waist. He watched her intently with clear, blue eyes.    

 

"You're alive," she murmured softly, amazement smoothing the tone of her voice and filling the small void between them. Her eyes, brimming with unshed tears, locked on the loose waves of his shirt and the smooth planes of his chest.

 

"I’m…” he began, unsure of what to call himself. _I’m me? I’m human? I’m…_

 

"You're alive," she repeated, her tone insistent but her hands hesitant as they moved from his thin waist along the loose linen to his chest. The fabric bunched as her fingers pressed lightly across his torso, searching. "You died," her voice cracked, her sorrow tangling desperately with her words, "but you're alive."

 

He stared at her, eyes wide, speechless, as her words triggered a brief but aching wave of memories. Phantom gunshots echoed through the corridor as fiery pain seared across his skin. The thoughts made him flinch and inhale sharply, and he held her more tightly as both of his hands found her waist, the small of her back, desperate for the contact. She settled her wandering hands together at the low V-collar of his shirt, raised her head, looked him in the eyes, and beamed, watery, radiant, and grateful.

 

The anchor weighing his heart down into the unseen depths released. 

 

"I'm alive," he replied quietly, his hand once again finding the gentle edges of her face and pulling her lips to his. The press of his upturned lips muffled her relieved, melodious laughter. 

 

And perhaps, most importantly…

 

_I’m home._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading! Let me know what you think if you have the thought and the time to:)


	2. The Pull of the Anchor

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This short anecdote takes place right before the Celebration scene at the end of the live-action BatB.

The delicate rustle of turning pages and shifting fabric greeted him as he pulled open the towering door to the palace library. He found her perched on a formal chaise next to the fireplace and engrossed in the classic old tome tucked into her lap.

“Darling?”

Her eyes remaining glued to the page, she hummed softly at his call and turned the page. He smiled at the sight of her as he approached her corner, her sanctuary, in the library. The dying embers of the once-roaring fire illuminated her white, flowery organza gown and added a blush to her smooth cheeks. She had tucked her feet underneath herself within the elaborate folds of her skirts, which had billowed out and covered most of the elegant chair. Her hair was styled away from her face into a simple, low bun and adorned with peach and rosy flowers at the base of her neck. She was lovely, and he found he very much preferred the sight of her within the walls of her revered library rather than in the crowded ballroom where they were expected any moment.

She reached the end of her chapter and closed her book as he made his way around to stand in front of her. Her smile warmed as she turned up her eyes to meet his. His own formal attire suited him far better than hers ever would, she thought.

“I don’t think I’m actually supposed to sit in this dress,” she said, smoothing the ruffle of her skirts with one hand while the other closely clasped her treasured book.

“But you do look immaculate in it,” he replied with a chuckle as he offered her his hand. Taking it gratefully, she pulled herself up from her comfortable seat and adjusted the layers of her dress around her hips.   

He recognized the binding of the book in her hand but couldn’t recall the title.

“ _Hamlet_ ,” she offered, answering his questioning glance.

He nodded in recognition and smiled softly, “One of my favorites.”

“Somehow, I hadn’t gotten around to it until now, and I can’t seem to put it down,” she said, holding the book to her chest, her finger marking her page. “It’s not a particularly happy story, is it?”

“Ah,” he breathed, nodding his head briefly as he took a step toward her. His hand lightly brushed the bare skin of her forearm before he stroked the light, translucent fabric of her sleeve fluttering at her elbow.  “Because you do prefer Shakespeare’s comedies. _Romeo and Juliet_ is a fine example.” 

She answered his mischievous smile with a delicate raise of her eyebrow before looking down at the book held between her palms.

“You don’t ever forget your first Shakespearean play,” she replied, her smile soft as she smoothed the edge of the book’s binding with her fingertip. 

She didn’t want to share the details of how books used to be few and far between for her and the villagers, although their interest in reading was either non-existent or less. While comfortable with the love she shared with the prince, she found at times that her past peasant status, although unimportant to him, made her feel particularly apprehensive, as if she was standing only two feet from the water’s edge of a sprawling, unfamiliar ocean: enthralled by and even grateful for the sight but overwhelmed. Some days, she felt the pull of a heavy anchor, dragging her to the floor of that expansive ocean as if she had jumped in without knowing how to swim and couldn’t quite reach the surface. Someday, she’d tell him more about long winters, lack of resources, and yes, her meager choices in reading material. But that was a conversation for another day. 

“I love you,” he said, tugging her wandering mind from her reverie as he clasped her empty hand within his own, “and your horrible taste in Shakespeare.”

“I love you and your hopeless vendetta against true love,” she smirked, matching the joking bite in his tone.

Surprised and delighted, he laughed out loud and gently pulled her toward him with their clasped hand. He brought his lips to her forehead and pressed a soothing kiss there. Reveling in the closeness, she smiled and closed her eyes as her other hand, clutching the old tome, lightly fell to her side. His hand found her chin and tipped her warm face toward his before he pressed a sure but soft kiss to her upturned lips.

“Come on,” he whispered, his thumb delicately caressing her cheekbone, before stepping back and extending his arm to her. “They’re ready for us. Would you care to accompany me?”

Setting her book to be picked back up soon enough, he was sure, on the short, wooden table beside her, she replied with the gleam in her eye and the gentle press of her hand as it came to rest on his velvet sleeve.

She knew she could and would learn how to swim and beat the ocean tide pulling her under the water’s surface. After all, she’d much rather drown in the taste of his lips and the light behind his smile.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm playing with some themes and motifs here, and I hope you enjoyed! Once again, thank you for reading:)


	3. She is my Anchor

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A conversation that occurs the night following the breaking of the curse.

He didn’t know how he came to be pacing in front of her bedroom door, a simple golden candlestick in his hand. The day had been an uproariously eventful one. Breaking curses tended to do that. And now well into the early hours of morning, the celebrations had ended with his servants retreating to their rooms or into the village with their loved ones. Belle had held herself especially close to him throughout the night before departing to her own room in the East Wing with a smile and a kiss to his cheek.

And now, here he paced with a mind on an endless, unforgiving loop...  

The wooden door creaked as it opened a small crack before widening further.

“Were you going to knock or just pace outside my door all night?”

She stepped out further into the doorway, and adjusted the powder blue shawl around her shoulders. Her hair was simply braided and rested against the top of her shoulder. The folds of her plain, white nightgown billowed softly around her ankles as she studied him critically for a moment with a calming smile.

Coming to a halt, he looked at her questioningly for a moment as if surprised to find her there, speaking to him.    

“The candlelight gave you away,” she answered, leaning into the door frame and gesturing to his occupied hand.  

“Ahh, yes…well, Lumiére never was one for subtlety,” he said good-naturedly before wincing and raking his fingertips along the side of his scalp. “Sorry. That was callous.”

She laughed kindly and shook her head.

“I hope I’m not being too forward,” he added, taking a step backward, away from her and her loveliness and her white nightgown. “I don’t mean to imply…”

“No, no, not at all,” she whispered, stepping into the hallway and closing the door softly behind her. She held her light shawl tightly around herself before continuing, “Do you want to go sit?”

He exhaled the breath he didn’t realize he was holding and nodded.

“Please.”

She smiled up at him reassuringly and took a couple of steps into the empty corridor before turning back and extending her hand to him, palm up. He took it gently within his own as his lifeline, his escape, his anchor.

Predictably, the pair found their way to the palace’s grand library, and he smiled to himself at the silent, mutual decision-making. The last, dying embers within the fireplace hummed faintly against the cool air of the large room as they entered, hand-in-hand. She slipped away quickly as he closed the door behind them with a soft click and wandered over to the large chaise in the corner of the room. As he set the candlestick down on the side table, she returned with a thin blanket, took a comfortable seat in the chair, and motioned for him to join her. He did so at her persuasion, surprisingly hesitant for a man who had once had such an extroverted, exuberant lifestyle, as she adjusted the blanket to cover them for the added security rather than for warmth.            

Everything was still extraordinarily new, he was reminded, as he curled his arm cautiously around her waist. The feel of the smooth fabric of her nightgown eased him slightly as he settled into his seat. She sat up at his side, folded her arm, and rested her forearm on his sturdy shoulder, her eyes resolute as she watched him.

She stared at him expectantly before smoothing the blonde hair at his shoulder and asked, “Do you need to talk about something?”

“That’s a fairly loaded question.”

“It is.”

“I need to talk about all of it really,” he reasoned, glancing up at her. “Not tonight, but eventually.”

“Yes, eventually.”

“It’s just…there’s a lot.”

“I know.”

He smiled, reserved, before letting out a sigh, “I’m going to be rather honest with you.” He stopped himself for a beat and looked away. “I’m afraid to fall asleep.”

“That doesn’t entirely surprise me.”

“Why do you say that?”

Pulling her arm down from its place on his shoulder, she curled more closely into his side and answered, “I’m afraid to fall asleep myself.”

The silence enveloped the room before he confessed.

“What if I wake up and you’re still gone? Or…what if you had never come here? What if it was all in my head?” he said softly, his thoughts sinking and pulling him deeper.  

“What if you were dead?” she replied, her voice small but matter-of-fact.

He pulled her more tightly against him and pressed a kiss to the side of her head.

“I would be without you,” he whispered into her hair.  

She savored the feel of his palm against her hip, his lips in her hair, his strong arm bracing her back.  Tears pricked behind her eyes, and she discreetly brushed them away.

“I didn’t know, you know.”

“Know what?”

“How the curse worked. What it would take to lift it. The servants, they didn’t tell me.”

“I’m glad you didn’t know. It needed…your feelings needed to be genuine and of your own power. The enchantress was particularly clear about that.”

“Do you believe the enchantress was needlessly cruel?” she asked, looking up at him.

“I…she was cruel, yes,” he conceded, rubbing his thumb along her side. “To the servants and castle occupants in particular, I would say. Not necessarily to me. Unfortunately, I don’t believe the curse was needless. I may question the methods, but the need was apparent enough.”

“Still,” she said, her voice edged with annoyance.

“I know.”

“Do you know how long…?”

“Years, I would imagine. Between all the screaming and the wallowing, I didn’t really keep track. Mrs. Potts might know,” he offered with a sigh. “It felt like an exhaustingly long time.”  

She smiled sadly up at him from his side. He considered her for a moment, and before he even realized what he was doing, he found himself on his knees in front of her. _Enough wallowing,_ he resolved.

Her eyebrows rose toward her hairline at his movements, but she waited patiently, taking his hands in hers.

“You do love me?” he asked, reaffirming, his blue eyes searching her face.

She smiled serenely.

“I do,” she said, he words certain and without hesitation.  

“And you’re utterly sure?”

Amused, she replied, “If you’re ever in doubt, just remember I broke a magical curse for you.”

“That’s not something I’m likely to forget,” he said candidly. He looked down at their joined hands before meeting her eyes once again. “I just…I hope you know—that is,” he shook his head and started again. “I hope I’m not being too presumptuous when I say I have every intention of marrying you the minute our lives feel a little bit less like a dream and more like an actual reality.”

Her smile softened and relaxed as she inched her face closer to his.

“I would rather hope so.”

“Dependent upon your acceptance, of course,” he added, his smile brightening as he brought his hand up to tuck a piece of brown hair gently behind her ear and cupped her face.  

“Do you love me?” she asked.

“Wholeheartedly.”

“Then you needn’t worry about my answer.”

His kiss muffled the soft melody of her laughter, grounding him within their new reality.

Together.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And we have dialogue! Some of my favorite style of text to write. I hope you enjoyed. Thank you all for the kind words and kudos:)


	4. Drowning

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Belle gets injured, and the prince is none too happy about it.
> 
> This vignette is perhaps the most unrelated to the actual movie timeline. It kinda morphed and became its own thing based on a tiny, wayward idea. That does happen sometimes. I added some angst to this lovefest. Again, not really intentional, but who doesn't love a good hurt/comfort fic? 
> 
> I would like to add a brief disclaimer that while I have ridden horses, I've never been thrown from one. And I also know there are varying degrees of injury involved. So don't get specific or picky on me here. It's a fanfic.

It happened two weeks after the wedding.

Humming to himself, Prince Adam worked at his desk in his private study overlooking the generous grounds below. The papers sprawled hazardously across his desk were a variety of royal business correspondence and congratulatory wedding messages, and he had resolved that today would be the day he would finally answer them all.

What a dreadful way to spend such a beautiful, sunny spring day.

“Pardon me, your Highness,” Cogsworth interrupted with an abrupt knock on the door and a swift entry.

“Yes, what can I do for you, Cogsworth?” Adam answered nonchalantly, not looking up at his butler as he continued to scratch a reply across the sheet of paper before him. “Are you here to save me from this terribly boring work?”

“Sire, the princess…”

“Yes, I believe she went down to the stables this morning if I’m not mistaken,” he said, considering his next words on the page with a pause.

“Yes, Sire, she did. She was working with the new thoroughbred and…”

“That damned horse,” he replied, laughing under his breath and replenishing his ink. “I swear, she has far more patience with that wayward animal than I ever will. I trust she had the groom help her this time. He very nearly knocked her in the face last time we were working with him.”

“Yes, Sire, the groom was assisting her this morning, but she insisted on riding the steed.”

His attention caught, Adam, furrowing his brow, finally stopped his writing and looked up at his butler. The man fidgeted as he stood next to the open doorway.

“She tried to ride that blasted creature?”

“Yes, she did, your Grace,” Cogsworth nodded and added quickly in a rush, “and the princess is fine.”

“Cogsworth…” the prince began warily, “why are you reassuring me that Belle is ‘fine’?”

“Because she was thrown from the horse, Sire.”

His reply was the screech of chair legs scrapping against the stone floor and a flurry of footsteps as the prince strode toward the door.

“You really should have led with that, Cogsworth,” he mumbled under his breath as he passed his butler and made his way swiftly down the hall and to the stairs.

“The princess didn’t want you to overreact,” Cogsworth called from behind him, out of breath as he attempted to keep up with the prince.

“Overreact!?”     

“You can be a tad over-protective, Sire.”

“Understandably so, it would seem!”

“Your Highness!” Cogsworth called again, surprisingly quick for a man of his age. “The doctor has been summoned for, and Mrs. Potts and Lumiére were seeing to it that she was brought back to the castle safely…”

As if on cue, a cacophony of voices enveloped the front entry of the palace as the doors opened to reveal Mrs. Potts, fluttering ahead of the group and directing instructions at the young stable boys. The grooms dispersed quickly to complete their respective tasks as Mrs. Potts turned to see Adam and Cogsworth standing on the grand stairway.

“My dear,” she began, her gaze directed toward the prince, “she’ll be fine.”   

“That’s what I keep hearing. I’d rather prefer to see her myself if nobody minds,” he said, his patience waning.

“Your Highness,” Mrs. Potts warned but stopped when two figures limped through the towering doorway.

The sight of his Belle, covered with mud from the soles of her boots through the folds of her skirt to the ends of her hair, and leaning heavily against Lumiére with a grimace of pain on her lovely, clever face was enough to make the prince very nearly forget his newly-reclaimed humanhood.

 

~~~~~~

 

Unsurprisingly, the doctor’s multiple reassurances that nothing was broken and no other ailments were present other than some deep bruising did nothing to temper Adam’s worry. His heart still raced within his chest even after he had stopped pacing the length of their bedroom. He couldn’t seem to rid himself of the deep ache in the pit of his stomach.

“What happened?” the prince asked once the doctor had relayed strict instructions for Belle to stay in bed and care for her bruises until her pain had eased and bowed briskly at the royal pair before closing the door softly behind him.

“Simple,” she began, grimacing slightly as she adjusted the sheets around herself and leaned against the plush pillows supporting her back. With Mrs. Potts assistance, Belle had exchanged her muddied riding clothes for her night dress and a thin dressing gown. Her hair and face had been wiped cleaned with a wet rag before she had settled gingerly into their bed. “The horse decided that he didn’t want me riding him anymore.”

“Darling…” he moaned, his eyes pleading.

Leaning deeper within her pillows, she sighed as her joke fell flat with her audience.

“He was spooked, Adam,” she said, watching him with a furrowed brow as he turned his back on her and began pacing again. “I don’t know what else you want me to say.” 

“I guess the better question is why were you riding that damned animal to begin with?”

She considered him for a moment, took in his stride and the heaviness of his shoulders, and crossed her arms defensively over her chest.

“You’re channeling your anger at me because you’re upset.” 

“Yes, I am,” he heard himself answer. He damn well knew he was overreacting, but the blood would not stop _screaming_ through his veins.

“Well, as long as you realize you’re doing it.”

“What in God’s name were you thinking?” he shouted, whirling around to face her. He _knew_ his emotions were getting the best of him, _he knew it, he knew it, he…_

At his outburst, Belle’s eyebrows rose to her hairline, and she met his gaze, equally enraged. He turned away from her and continued pacing, his temper having peaked at his tantrum as his heart rate began to ease. 

“Don’t chastise me like that!” she began loudly before reconsidering and softening her voice. “I took precautions, the very same ones you would have taken. He seemed to be responding well. You should have seen him!” Her eyes lit up as she continued. “It was the tamest he’d ever behaved around people. And…Adam…love, look at me,” she said, her tone softening further but still solid around the edges. She waited until he stopped, turned, and met her gaze once more. “This isn’t my first time being thrown from a horse.”

“This is _my wife’s_ first time being thrown from a horse,” he bit back, but the unbridled fury within him was beginning to lose its power.

“Adam!” she admonished, fuming, her eyes wide. 

The infuriated look on her face clearly told him that was absolutely the wrong thing to say.  

“I’m allowed to worry about this—about you!” he said, gesturing wildly toward her, laying in their bed, _after being thrown off a blasted wild animal, for Christ’s sakes._  

“I’m not a whole new person now that I’m your wife. My life didn’t just start two weeks ago.”

He balked at her and replied, “No, but _ours_ did.”

_“I’m not just your wife!”_

Her wounded shout startled him, and the last embers of the fire burning through his veins were extinguished with the chill of her voice.

“That’s not—“ he started, his anger gone. His frame sagged as the weight of his worry replaced the pull of his panic. “That’s not what I meant at all.”

The silence stretched and filled the cool void between them. Belle’s fury had never been so apparent on her upturned face, her mouth tight and her cheeks flushed. Finally, Adam sighed and took a step toward the bed.

“Can I please hold your hand?” he asked, tentatively taking another step toward her and taking a seat on the bed at her hip. “I feel more…grounded and the world is less chaotic when I’m touching you.”   

Her glare shifted from his face to his waiting hand as she considered his request. The silent moment between them allowed the fire within her own stomach to lose its fuel, and she relented, unfolding her arms and laying her hand palm up against her thigh as she looked up at him. Grateful, he took her hand securely in his, steadied himself, and met her gaze.

“I’m sorry…about my temper. Sometimes…I know I get irrational, and I _hear_ myself. And I don’t _want_ to shout at you, I’m just so utterly terrified of losing you. But that isn’t fair to you,” he sighed, watching her before hesitantly bringing her hand up to his lips and placing a gentle kiss against her knuckles. Her eyes softened at the gesture.

“I just…I know you’re accustomed to going at this alone. I am too,” he explained, “but Belle, you can’t protect me from these things. You can’t stop me from worrying about you. You can’t shrug it off like it’s nothing because it’s _everything_ to me. The idea of something happening to you…it…I’ll break, Belle. When you met me, I was drowning…now, I can _finally_ breathe. Do you understand that?”

He paused to take a breath and shook his head.  

“My bad temper just now…” he sighed, resigned. “I’m completely at fault, and for that, I wholeheartedly apologize to you as a man and as your husband. But please, darling.” He stroked the back of her hand and met her gaze. “Give me some credit. I don’t want to stifle you. And you obviously wouldn’t have married me if you thought I did,” he said self-deprecatingly, a hint of a smile ghosting on his lips.

She replied with her own tightlipped smile.

“This isn’t about you being me wife,” he continued, his voice softening further as he leaned in closer. “This is about you simply being you and a force to be reckoned with in my life. I do everything I can to not overwhelm you, to not stifle you. Your independence and your drive to push further and discover new things are just some of the many, many things I absolutely adore about you. I don’t want to _ever_ be the cause of those beautiful qualities being taken from you.”

“I…” she began, her eyes wide and glossy with unshed tears. She held his gaze for a moment before looking down at their joined hands. “I’ve been told many times in my life that I shouldn’t or couldn’t do something. And as much as I hate to admit it, I wasn’t deaf to it.” She shrugged, her gaze unfocused, and continued, “And _you_ know perhaps better than anybody…the treatment of others can linger, no matter how far removed we may be from it. And then an innocent party such as my husband, who I love immensely and who, might I add, can still have an impressive temper, gets the blame.” She took a breath and met his gaze, a sad smile on her lips. “I’m better than that, and I’m sorry.”

“Old habits,” he conceded, smiling faintly.

“Indeed.”

Wary of jostling the bed beneath her, he took the moment of common ground to brush the stray strands of hair from her temple with his hand and leaned down to gently kiss her forehead.

“I’m sorry,” he whispered into her hair as he kissed above her ear.

“I know,” she said, nodding and leaning into the kiss. “I’m sorry, love.”

As he pulled away, his eyes searched her face, his gaze unsure.

“I’m alright,” she reassured him, bringing her hand up to comb through his hair and settle on the stubble along his jaw. “I promise I’ll tell you if I’m ever not.”

He let out a shaky breath, closed his eyes, and nodded. Turning his head, he covered her hand with his own and placed a light kiss along the edge of her palm. He settled both of their hands in her covered lap.   

“Can I get you anything, darling?”

Her eyes lighting up, Belle smiled and squeezed his hand tightly before releasing it and sliding down further into her sheets.

“Actually, do you mind handing me my sketchpad and charcoal? It’s just there,” she said, pointing toward her vanity in the corner. When he returned with it safely in hand, his eyes questioning, she motioned for him to join her in the bed with a reassuring smile.

After removing his jacket and his boots, Adam slide under the covers next to her and adjusted her gently. She grimaced and yelped softly as his leg grazed her hip, and he whispered calming apologizes into her hair as she settled into his side with her sketchpad in hand.  

“Alright?”

She nodded soundlessly, steadied herself with a soothing breath, and began to sketch.

“What if…” she began, her voice growing stronger as she spoke, “we created some kind of rig—with pulleys and rope, I would imagine—to help us guide and train the horses without anyone needing to get too close initially? The beginning stages are so delicate, and the animals are so easily spooked.”

He marveled at her silently and smiled into her hair.

“What did you have in mind?”     

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As always, thank you for the kind praise and encouragement. Happy reading!


	5. A Maddening Affair

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Belle has nightmares, as one does when magical curses are broken (pre-wedding). 
> 
> So again, I'm getting away from my theme, but the writing exercises continue! We are now going to follow our dear Belle around about a month after the curse is broken and see if we can't better understand her head space, shall we? Let's proceed!

Belle wasn’t overly concerned after the first nightmare, or even the second one really. She had read enough to know how to dissect the cause scientifically if she cared to. A traumatic event occurs; people recover physically but the mental and emotional strains remain as they are typically more difficult to diagnose, and therefore, treat. Breaking a decade-long curse archetypally qualified. As did watching the love of your life die from three gunshot wounds. And then watching said love of your life come back to life. Queue the fireworks and celebration balls.

Belle still went weak in the knees thinking about those damn fireworks.

Yes, Belle had read her fair share of fairy tales. She knew she had just _lived_ one. She could recognize a classic archetype when she saw one, especially when fireworks were involved.   

And alas, their luck had awarded them a happy ending! But see, the thing was, as Belle was quickly learning, the happiness didn’t erase the pain. And repressed pain often made itself achingly known when one was at their most vulnerable. Hence, the nightmares.  

She’d be more concerned if she _wasn’t_ having nightmares honestly.

She hadn’t felt the need to worry Adam about her nightmares. She doubted very much that he wasn’t having his own judging by the number of times that he had come down to breakfast looking more exhausted than he had the previous evening. Those mornings were happening less frequently as time passed, but Belle could always tell when he had had a particularly difficult night.

She had only had two or three nightmares herself. No need to worry him.

A month had passed since the curse had been broken, and palace life was quickly resuming around her. The servants were reestablishing their lives in the castle and in the village, and the palace had never looked more pristine and beautiful in recent memory according to the townspeople. Life was carrying on, and Belle was often shocked by how difficult it could be some days for her to keep up. The pace of her life had quickened to a speed that she had never experienced, and she both loved and apprehensively revered the challenge.

Her dreams always began in much the same fashion. Dressed in the same clothes from that fateful night, she always found herself standing on the ramparts of the crumbling castle below her. Some nights, the Beast would be with her as they struggled to find their balance, and someone, usually him but occasionally herself, would fall into the empty and seemingly bottomless chasm below. Some nights, Gaston would appear and events would play out again as if she was recalling a memory rather than a fabrication. While more appealing than the former, those dreams were no more reassuring.

She found the hardest nightmares for her to recover from involved not the Beast but her Adam, struggling to reach her on the ramparts of the palace. She’d wake up with a throat-burning scream every time she watched him fall before her eyes. On those nights, she was particularly grateful that her wing of the palace was so secluded from the rest of the household.   

Her four or five (at most) nightmares were perfectly bearable, in her opinion, until her soon-to-be husband begrudgingly decided that his long-avoided trip to visit Versailles could no longer wait. He was a prince, after all, and ten years of absence would simply not go unnoticed, if his cousins’ letters were any indication.  

_“Belle, darling, it’s a maddening affair, really. I detest that I have to attend at all.”_

_“Would you rather them come visit us here?”_

_“God no.”_

_“Okay then.”_

He still grumbled incessantly about the trip, but Belle regretfully agreed that he needed to go.  

Her arms wrapped securely around herself, she was shocked by how much she suddenly resented his royal title as she watched him gallop away with a modest entourage in tow. He had left her with a lengthy kiss that would have carried on for days if she’d had her way and a smile that finally reached his eyes. Even though she had chastised him for very nearly falling down the palace staircase, the image of him beaming at her as he took the steps backwards to allow his bright blue eyes to never leave her flushed face was seared into her brain and very unlikely to leave anytime soon. Not that she wanted it to.   

He was to be gone only seven days, a full week, which was more than enough time to put any royal matters in order and make the two-day trip to and from the outskirts of Paris.

Belle and her six or seven nightmares could handle seven days. Seven days was a perfectly acceptable amount of time to be away from one’s soon-to-be husband without losing one’s mind. She was sure of it.

And, indeed, Belle was correct. She could handle seven days.

She and her nightmares, however, could not handle ten days.  

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oh dear me, this isn't a particularly good cliff-hanger, but it's what you get for now. This will obviously have a second part, and it should be to you later this week. I blame both my computer's flakiness and the Easter weekend for this section's lack of completion. Also hockey. I blame hockey. 
> 
> Thank you all for reading and commenting and kudoing! It's a wonderful treat to share this with you all. Please enjoy!


	6. A Maddening Affair (Part 2)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Adam returns home, and Belle shares her discontent at his tardiness. Part 2 of A Maddening Affair.
> 
> Theme? What theme? I had a purpose going into this? I don't think I can see it from here...

As dusk slowly arrived across the cloudy, heavy sky, the squeak of rolling carriages and the clack of horse hooves could be heard approaching the palace. The prince, followed wearily by his entourage, galloped impatiently to the bottom of the steps and dismounted. He gently rubbed his horse’s neck with a calming _tut tut_ and looked up fondly at the palace before him as the other riders dismounted. The set of his own shoulders was fatigued and tight, but his heart had immediately lightened at the sight of home.

The palace doors burst open, and a slim but elegantly dressed man appeared, relief evident on his face.   

“Lumiére!”

“Your Highness!” Lumiére answered jovially, descending the staircase with a light step and reaching to take the horse’s reins. “Welcome home, monsieur!”

Adam greeted him with a beaming smile and a clap on the back as he stepped away from the horse.

“Thank you, my good man. Ten days is far too long to be away.”

“Oui, monsieur, and longer than intended.”

“Indeed,” the prince replied with a shake of his head, “which only made it that much worse.”   

“Mud is a good look for you, Sire,” a kind voice behind him called. “Very fashionable.”

With a laugh, Adam turned to see the smiling, relieved face of Mrs. Potts standing at the top of the palace steps. He extended his arms out and looked down at his spoiled clothing. His boots and riding pants were caked in dried mud from the journey, and even more of that mud had settled into the creases of his sleeves and collar.

“My dear Mrs. Potts!” he exclaimed gleefully as she descended the steps. “Didn’t you know? It’s the latest fashion at Versailles.”

“It wouldn’t shock me if you were actually telling the truth, dear boy,” she said, kissing his cheek lightly with a smile.

An abrupt laugh escaped from behind his lips.

“Ah, but I did miss you, Mrs. Potts.”

Her smile dimmed slightly as she said, “We were growing concerned about when you would return.”

The prince shook his head with a sigh and glanced up at the palace door before turning his attention once again to Mrs. Potts.

“Yes, if I’d had my way, the trip wouldn’t have even taken the whole week, but I’m afraid the weather disagreed with me.” He began to back toward the staircase when he asked, “Where’s…?”

The patter of quick footfalls and the rustle of fabric drew his attention as Belle emerged from the doorway. Adam’s smile brightened just at the sight of her in her daily, working dress and boots with her hair curling loosely around her face and against her shoulders. He noticed she was holding herself differently, but he couldn’t pinpoint exactly what has changed.

He bounded up the steps two at a time to reach her. He fully intended to take her into his arms and kiss her properly and soundly right there on the palace steps for all to see, propriety be damned.  

The furious scowl on her flushed features stopped him.    

“How dare you!” Belle cried with a solid _whack_ of her book against his chest. Her eyes, glassy but focused, glared at him through her dark lashes. “How dare you make me worry about you so!”

“Belle…”

“We didn’t know where you were”— _whack_ —“for”— _whack_ —“three”— _whack_ —“days!”

Her voice cracked as she punctuated each word with her book. _For emphasis._

As the prince stood speechless, Belle threw the book into his outstretched hands, turned briskly on her heels, and retreated into the palace.

“Well then,” he began after a long pause, his brow furrowed. Gripping her book in one hand, he placed his free hand on his hip and leisurely turned toward his staff. “Would anyone care to enlighten me on what I’ve missed?”

\-------

He found her tucked away against the back shelves of the library with her back leaning against the colorful book bindings and her knees curled up against her chest. Her fingers fiddled with the edges of her apron as she stared straight ahead at the row of books in front of her.   

“How was Versailles?”

With a sigh, Adam considered her for a moment before deciding that no further physical danger was imminent and cautiously took a seat beside her on the floor. Sitting so close to her, he could see the ink and charcoal residue along the edges of her fingers and smell the sweet floral tones of her soap. He also noticed the dark circles under her eyes and the tightness in her shoulders.

“Loathsome. I’m embarrassed by how much I used to enjoy it actually,” he replied, glancing over at her. “But that’s not at all important right now.”

Avoiding eye contact, Belle inhaled a shallow breath before slowly releasing it.

“I obviously didn’t handle your absence particularly well.”

“So it would appear.”

With a pause, she closed her eyes, took another breath, and turned to face him.

“I’d like to apologize for my outburst,” she said decidedly, meeting his gaze.

“I’ll admit it was a bit out of character,” he said lightly. He shook his head and continued, his tone thoughtful, “But an apology is wholly unnecessary. I’m much more concerned about what’s wrong.”

“I was worried.”

“I don’t doubt that you were, darling,” he reassured her, bringing his hand up to brush a stray curl from her face, “but I have it on good authority that my presence doesn’t serve as your sole means of happiness.”

“I wonder who told you that.”

“I believe it was you.”

“Ah, that does sound like me.”

The pair smiled cautiously at each other after the familiar moment. 

A concerned frown replaced Adam’s smile as he whispered matter-of-factly, “Mrs. Potts says you haven’t been sleeping.”

Belle turned away from his gaze and, with a tilt of her head, stared down into her lap.

“That’s nonsense,” she replied softly.

“Mrs. Potts has never really been one to lie.”

“Of course not, I didn’t say that,” she argued half-heartedly. “She’s exaggerating.”

“And why do you say that?”

She considered his question for a moment before taking another deep breath and answering.

“Because you can’t have nightmares if you aren’t sleeping.”

He watched her sadly as she resolutely, honestly answered him, her voice only shaking once through her confession. It took him nearly no time at all to wrap his arm securely around her shoulders and pull her gently into his side with a kiss into her hair. He held her silently as he rubbed along the edge of her sleeve.   

“All I see, every night— _every night—_ is you,” she whispered into his shoulder. “I see you falling from the top of the palace, over and over _and over_ again. Sometimes, you get _shot_ again, and I have to…I watch you die. And I can’t watch that every night.” She wiped briskly along her check with her hand. “I’m not…Adam, I’m not strong enough to watch that _every night.”_  

He sighed and took a moment to collect himself because sometimes it all really was too much, _she_ really was too much, for him to comprehend his misfortune, his luck.

“Darling, I wouldn’t wager anybody is…” he replied softly. “Why didn’t you tell me you were having nightmares?”

“Ironically, it was because I knew you were having them too,” she said, her excuse sounding futile even to her own ears. She sat up slowly to meet his gaze and smooth his collar. “You had enough on your mind.”

He choked out a bitter laugh and leaned his head back against the bookshelves.

“I care about my own well-being far less than I care about yours.”

“But you’ve been through a far more traumatizing experience than me!” she reasoned with a huff.

“Belle,” he said, his tone soft as he turned to face her, “I’ve never had to watch you die.”

“You were cursed for nearly a decade!” she continued stubbornly. 

“I’m not saying it wasn’t traumatizing,” he said, his fingers wanting nothing more than to ease the wrinkle between her brows. “Belle, just the very idea of something happening to you…I don’t even want to begin to think about how it would feel if I ever saw it _actually happen_. I’m not going to discredit your torments simply because I have my own.”

She smiled sadly at him before lightly kissing his cheek and the edge of his jaw in gratitude.

“I just…I wasn’t ready for you to be gone that long,” she replied, pulling back within the comfort of his arms. “Before you left, even though I hadn’t told you what was happening, the fact that you were still in the castle made the dreams feel less…real. They had less of a hold on me, I suppose. The uncertainty of your return once seven days became eight and then nine days just made it all worse.”

“I’m sorry,” he said sincerely.

She nodded her head once with a sweet smile before asking, “Where were you? Mrs. Potts suspected the weather caused your delay.”

“Mrs. Potts was, once again, correct,” he grumbled, his discontent at his delay evident in his voice.  

“I assume that would account for the mud that you’re now getting all over my dress,” she mocked as she picked a dried piece of mud from his collar.

In retaliation, he pulled her closer into his side and nuzzled his nose into her loose hair. The squeak he elicited from her made him laugh, relieved by her closeness and familiarity.

“The storms and rain in the northern hills delayed us, and then the mud along the roads sunk our carriage and supplies on several occasions. Hence, the mud…” He gestured half-heartedly toward his clothing with his free hand and continued, “…as the horses could not remove the carriage by themselves.”

“Well, I’d say you’ve never looked more attractive.”

“Thank you, darling. That was the intended purpose.”

And at that, he tipped her chin up and kissed her, softly and cautiously at first, before he resolved that the resilient woman within his arms deserved far better than _softly_ and _cautiously._

“Belle…”

She hummed in response.

“Do we need to talk more about this?”

“Yes,” she mumbled against his lips, “but not now. You’re home.”

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I do try very hard to find Belle's head space, but Dan Steven's Beast was such a modern, clever spin on the original that I find his thoughts more compelling (as much as I lovedddd Emma Watson's Belle). 
> 
> Thank you for reading!


	7. To be Kind

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Adam knew, but he never realized. 
> 
> This vignette takes place approximately two years after Adam and Belle have wed.

He’d never realized.

He would be the first to admit to anyone really that he could be a bit of a fool, even a massive fool when the occasion called for it. His lovely wife would wholeheartedly agree with this admission. That was perhaps a large part as to why the prince married her, and he quite adored her for it.

Having spent the better part of ten years as a terrifying beast with claws, fur, and an affinity for growling menacingly rather than calmly communicating one’s very human and complex thoughts and compulsions, the prince had rightfully learned his lesson. Be generous toward those who had less. Hold judgement toward no one. Show kindness and empathy toward all.

Pretty obvious lessons, he can now admit, but some people have thicker skulls than others.

He was a prince, for goodness’ sake. Of course, he had more than everyone else.

That, however—as Belle’s quick tongue reminded him—did not make him somehow _better_ or any more deserving than everyone else.

But he’d never truly realized.

~~~~~~~

“You look terribly uncomfortable about this.”

Blocking the bright morning sun with the palm of his hand, Adam looked up at the sound of his wife’s knowing voice. The smirk on her clever face matched the lilt in her tone.

“That is perhaps because I am, my darling,” he replied as he flipped the leather reins over his horse’s head and readied himself to mount.  

Sitting atop Philippe’s back with her hair pulled back away from her face with a ribbon, Belle wrapped herself more snuggly within the warmth of her cloak. The chill of the late October morning had not dissipated with the rise of the sun. 

“They’re _your people_ , Adam,” she sighed, pulling her own reins to keep her horse in place.

With a slight grimace, Adam glanced at her quickly over his shoulder before he hoisted himself into his saddle and adjusted his coat. Belle’s eyes remained trained on him intently over the collar of her cloak. The prince wisely—or childishly, depending on who you asked—avoided her gaze. 

“And I have pledged my undying loyalty to do everything I can to keep them safe, fed, and happy,” he said, adjusting his sleeves before finally meeting her eyes, rather bravely in _his_ opinion. “That doesn’t mean I now suddenly feel completely at-ease around them. I was mildly horrendous before.”

“Mildly?” she asked, arching an eyebrow.

“I know, I know. Let’s get on with it,” he grimaced, pulling at the horse’s reins. With a sigh, he turned to look at her again, his brow furrowed. “Do I really look that uncomfortable?”

Belle smirked at him from her perch on Philippe’s back, but her face quickly relaxed into a well-meaning smile.

“You’ll do, love,” she replied with a soft chuckle. She readied her reins and inclined her head eastward. “C’mon. We don’t want to waste the morning.”  

Followed by a small entourage and numerous carts of supplies, the royal couple made their way swiftly to the village of Villeneuve. With the winter quickly approaching and the farmers in the area warning of a far worse winter season than people of the area were accustomed to, the palace had taken it upon themselves to provide for the villagers wherever the greatest need presented itself. Belle had been an invaluable resource for such information.

This was the third trip the young couple had made over the last month, and it would perhaps be the last of the season if the heavy white clouds above them today were any indication.

~~~~~~~

The creak of the old, wooden door and a clear, delighted voice pulled the chaplain away from his task.   

“Pére Robert!”

“Ah, Princess!” the chaplain replied, stepping down from his ladder to greet the couple as they entered the small chapel. Pére Robert removed his hat and dipped his head in a courteous bow which Adam quickly returned, the discomfort only slightly apparent behind the prince’s smile. Chuckling as Belle shook her head and pursed her lips at the use of her new title, the chaplain continued, “Dear Belle, it’s truly a blessing to see you around town.” 

“We had some extra supplies we wanted to give the church in case anyone needed something with the winter months coming so quickly. I suspected you could help us with that.”

As Belle turned toward the door, three royal guards entered, their arms pilled with food, blankets, and other valuable necessities that the village simply had too little of this time of year.

“Of course, how kind of you to think of us,” Pére Robert said, his smile bright. As he turned his gaze to the prince, his smile softened, and he nodded his head again. “Your Highness.”

“Pére Robert. Good to see you again.”

“Oui, your Highness. It is quite the honor to have you visit us this afternoon. And your generosity! How very kind,” the chaplain said, his eyes wide. “Yes, gentlemen, just over there will do perfectly,” he instructed as the men followed him toward the corner of the room. “Thank you. Yes, very kind, indeed.”

As the parcels were properly stored and the chaplain began to count and sort the added supplies, Belle took a long moment to remember a time before. Her attention drifted to the candle flickering atop a small desk in the corner.

“Pére Robert!” she exclaimed joyfully. Her skirts twirling around her, the princess nearly _skipped_ to the small wooden desk and leaned over, her wide eyes trained on the objects before her.  “You’ve expanded the library!”

Smiling at her excitement, the prince took a step toward her to see what had caught her eye. The table held various trinkets and religious figurines, but Belle’s attention was focused solely on the short line of worn books leaning against the wall. His eyes widened as he counted… _fifteen?_

Fifteen books.

Fifteen books that looked nothing short of lovingly aged. Fifteen books that were very likely read, he realized, most frequently by the adventurous girl currently running the tips of her fingers along their spines. 

The chapel's library was comprised of _fifteen books._

And they’d _expanded it?_

There had to be other books for Belle, for the villagers, to read… _surely_ —

But no, Belle had spoken of the chapel’s library and the chapel’s library alone. She didn’t have access to the headmaster’s school collection.

He’d never realized.

He took a step back from his distracted wife and angled his head to the floor, his face pained and his hands gripping each other tightly behind his back. His mind, racing and splitting into dozens of different directions, sought any place or anywhere to get him away from the pit in his stomach and the ache in his heart.

Because he’d had everything. And she’d had not even fifteen books.

And she had never found it difficult to be kind.

“Yes, not by many, mind you,” Adam vaguely heard Pére Robert reply. “But a recent traveler through town had a notable collection, and I was able to trade for a couple of his titles.”

“You still have all of my favorites, I hope.”

“Of course,” the chaplain answered with a chuckle. “Although you’ll notice some of your most revered titles are missing at the moment. A couple of the younger mademoiselles have been stopping by over the last few weeks.” He folded his arms across his chest and arched an eyebrow and with a light tone, added, “It’s odd. Don’t you agree?”

Adam watched as a smile crept across her lips. Her eyes memorizing the look of the new additions to the small collection, Belle scrunched her nose and replied with a soft huff, “Yes, how odd.”

She begrudgingly pulled herself away and turned toward the two men. “An adventure, every last one of them. I’m glad they’re getting some use.” Noting the darkening sky out the window, Belle adjusted her cloak and sighed, “I wish we could stay longer, but we must get back home before sundown.”

“Of course, Belle, your Highness.”

After Belle had given Pére Robert’s hands a tight squeeze as a quick farewell and stepped toward the door, Adam turned to follow her before reconsidering and addressing the chaplain once again.

“You’ll let us know if you think of anything else you or the villagers might need?”

The chaplain pulled his hands together and studied the troubled prince before replying kindly, “Absolutely, your Highness. What you’ve already done for the village…really, it’s been most generous.”

“There’s always…there’s always more we can do,” the prince said, noting, perhaps for the first time, just how true that statement was and just how much he meant it.  

“Thank you,” the chaplain replied with a nod and a knowing look in his eye. He stepped forward and gently placed a hand on the prince’s shoulder. “May God bless you, your Highness.”  

With a shaky sigh, Adam turned to see his Belle.

Framed by the threshold of the chapel door, she smiled gently at him with a suspicious shimmer in her eyes.

~~~~~

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sometimes, this is what you have to do to make yourself write. Post what you have, and then use that as an incentive. And I appreciate anyone still reading in the BatB universe:) 
> 
> There will likely be a Part 2 because I do love me some dialogue! I'm not really a sub-text kind of girl. And it will be all fluff, I'm sure, knowing me.


	8. To be Kind (Part 2)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Adam is searching for something, and as he should have known, Belle has his answer. 
> 
> This vignette takes place shortly after the last chapter.

Her dear husband had been distracted.

She watched him apprehensively over the edge of her water goblet as he fidgeted endlessly at the other end of their expansive dining table. Surrounding his bowl of warm soup and wine glass was an array of reading materials he’d been browsing for the last hour. His eyes, slightly dulled around their edges, were framed by a seemingly permanent wrinkle along his brows.

While Belle herself had spent much of their dinner perched neatly in her own seat reading a single book, the silence coming as more of a familiar comfort than a deterrent, she considered her husband now as she leaned back into her seat, her glass in hand. 

It wasn’t often that she was the one left to sit in silence while the other lost themselves within the pages of a book, and as much as she loved the poor man, this week of peculiar behavior was driving her positively mad. 

_What on earth was he searching for?_

“Love?”

His spoon in hand, Adam turned the page with a flick as a piece of blonde hair fell into her eyes.

“Love?” she repeated more loudly.

Her call was greeted by the clatter of his spoon hitting the side of his bowl. His startled eyes shifted from his book to her face.

“Are you alright?”

“Of course,” he replied vaguely, offering her a small, wary smile. It was, Belle realized, as if looking at her reminded him of something. With a soft sigh, he mumbled, “Why do you ask?”

“You just seem a bit…”

His eyes slide back to the pages of his book.

_…Distracted._

 

\-------

 

“ADAM!”

A fortnight had passed since their trip into town before Belle lost the last of her patience as well as her subtly, as evidenced by the dinner roll that now sat ceremoniously in her husband’s lap after smacking him rather unceremoniously in the forehead.

Her disgruntled face greeted him as his eyes finally met hers from across the dinner table.

“Would you _please_ talk to me?”

To his credit, the prince had the decency to look sheepish as he picked up the roll in his lap and slowly placed it on his plate. “Your aim is rather impressive,” he replied, mildly shocked.  

“Adam!”

The prince also had the decency to wince in response to Belle’s mild shriek and the unyielding glare that followed. He sighed. “I…don’t know how to talk to you about this.”

“Don’t know how…” Belle breathed, her cheeks flushed. “Adam, you don’t know how to talk to _me_?”

He shook his head. “Not about this.”

“About what?”

“This.”

_How vague._

“Would you care to give it a try any time soon?

She answered his resigned sigh with a huff as she leaned back into her chair and folded her arms protectively over her belly. She considered her husband for a moment—the dark bags under his eyes, the soft blonde hair falling out of its tie, the slight slump in his shoulders—and sighed softly.   

“Adam,” she began, ensuring that she had caught his drifting attention. “You read.”

“I…” the prince choked out, startled. Matching her matter-of-fact tone, he cleared his throat and answered skeptically, “Yes, I read.”

“And what is the most lethal weapon in our most favorite novels?”

“Oftentimes, it’s swords…”

“Miscommunication,” she countered with a glare.

“Oh, you meant figuratively.”

“Or lack of proper communication completely.”

“William Shakespeare was particularly fond of using that device to death, wasn’t he?”

The renewed twinkle in her husband’s eyes was reassuring but she pressed on, ignoring him.

“And I have been lacking both communication and my husband for two weeks,” Belle continued, leaning forward in her seat and resting her elbows on the table. “And I would like to know why.” 

Resigned, Adam released a sigh but his gaze never left her. He ran his hand quickly through his hair. “I’d rather not have such a discussion yelling at each other across the dining hall.”

The screech of a sliding chair and the patter of light footfalls answered him. When Belle reached him at his end of the table, she offered him her hand.

“Then where would you like to go?”

 

\-----

 

With Belle’s arm securely wrapped within the crux of Adam’s elbow, the royal pair found themselves walking slowly through the exquisite gardens surrounding the castle. Belle pulled herself more tightly into her husband’s side, savoring both his warmth and the protective air that hung around him whenever she was near.

“Where do you suppose we should start?” Adam asked softly.

“I think that’s for you to decide.”

He glanced down at her. Her displeasure with him had eased since they had stepped out into the crisp evening air. Her hair, pulled half way up and secured at the base of her neck, laid in loose waves along the shoulders of her wool cloak. Her cheeks and nose were flushed pink from the chill, and he found that the setting sun left a new glow behind her eyes that he had never noticed.

He pulled her closer still.    

“Your position is noted, but I would appreciate the help,” he admitted.

She huffed softly, but a smile slipped onto her lips. “Okay. We visited the village,” she began, her voice softening, “and you left looking more heartbroken than I’ve ever seen you.”

“Not more heartbroken than I’ve ever been, darling,” he countered solemnly, looking down at her.  

She offered him a sad smile and squeezed his arm. “No, I imagine not.” The pair continued to stroll quietly for a moment before she continued, “What affected you so?”

“I think I’m searching for something.”

A pregnant pause.

“For what?” she asked carefully.

“The meaning to everything sounds rather dramatic,” he answered sheepishly, “but I’m not really sure how else to phrase it.”

“And is being distant from every person in your life helping in your search?”

“Not particularly.”

“I thought not.” 

The prince didn’t reply immediately, choosing instead to attempt the overwhelming task of assembling his meandering thoughts in a linear fashion in his head before sharing them aloud.

“Belle?”

“Hmm?”

“Why do I have so much when others have so little?”

“Adam…,” she breathed, pulling them to a stop in the middle of the path and turning him to face her.  

“Why?” he asked again, his voice almost pleading as he dropped her arm. “I’m no better than anyone else. I’m especially no better than you!”

“Adam!” she admonished.

“So why?”

Her heart sank with the crack in his voice. “I don’t know why,” she admitted, taking a slow step toward him and taking one of his hands between her own. “But I choose to believe that those who have the most are also bestowed with the incredibly selfless ability to give back the most.”

His avoiding eyes focused on the bottom of Belle’s skirts. “I didn’t always think as I do know.”

She nodded, her open gaze never leaving his face. “I know that, love.”

“So how in God’s name did I deserve it then?” he asked softly, finally looking up at her. The glow in her cheeks remained. Staring down at her, Adam realized he really wasn’t talking about his physical belongings anymore.

“You probably didn’t,” she conceded. “That’s simply how life is sometimes. It’s not always fair.”

“Belle, I had everything,” he said dejectedly. Reconsidering, he added quietly, “ I…thought I had everything.”

“Obviously, you had nearly every object or trinket you could possibly ask for, but there are more important things—things that you can’t buy or trade for or own,” she replied, offering him a soft smile and bringing her hand up to cup his cheek. “You hardly had everything there was to truly have.”

He pulled her gently into his chest and said the one thought that, even amongst his own inner turmoil, he had not forgotten.

“I hardly deserve you.”

The pair held each other within the sheltered darkness of the castle gardens. The silence was a welcomed comfort, but Adam’s steady heartbeat beneath her ear pushed her forward. All was not resolved, but Belle could feel her prince slowly regaining his color, his spirit, his footing. And that assurance was all she needed.

“Adam?” she asked.

“Yes, darling?”

Pushing her trepidation aside, she paused, her heart fluttering in her chest.

“I’m pregnant.”

The air held still within the silent pause that followed Belle’s quiet admission.  

The tension drained from the Adam’s face as he released a quiet sigh, gathered his wife more closely within his arms, and buried his face in the layers of her soft hair. Her admission, although not entirely a surprise as the prince had noticed the slight changes in his wife’s body over several months, ignited every emotion he was even capable feeling—endless love, unbridled hope, and no small amount of mild terror—to course through his veins.

“You were right,” he whispered, kissing her hair and holding her smaller frame more tightly against his chest. “Now, I have everything.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I did not believe myself capable of going there, but I did it! I have no idea how much I will really delve into the whole pregnancy storyline because geez, that's a heavy one (with a ridiculous amount of research required) so we will see. Plus, pregnancy in the 1700s was a scary thing, so I doubt I'll get too deep into that. But this just...kinda happened. Everything flowed right. I don't know what else to say.
> 
> Regardless, I hope you enjoyed! Kudos and comments always appreciated.


End file.
